


what gentlemen prefer

by Sway



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Butt Plugs, Comeplay, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Established Relationship, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Sex, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Name-Calling, Oral Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Slut Shaming, Spanking, with other people - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26715757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway
Summary: “Have you waited long, then?”“You know I have. You’ve been gone for hours.” Crowley all but towers over him and Aziraphale could swear his golden eyes glow in the dim light of his desk lamp. “How many have it been this time?” He draws in a long breath, taking in the angel’s scent along his neck. “Five?” Another sniff, this time lower. “No, I think six.”Aziraphale likes to go out to have his needs met; Crowley waits for him to give him his much deserved punishment
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83
Collections: Good Omens Kink Meme





	what gentlemen prefer

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this post](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/4446.html?thread=3352926#cmt3352926) on the GO Kink Meme.

There is a little swing in his step as Aziraphale enters the shop. He’s even whistling a little tune that dwindles away when he sees a light on in the back. He hasn’t left that on, has he?

Carefully, he treads further into the room, flexing his fingers, ready to strike upon whatever fiend might be lurking in the shadows.

“You’re late.”

Aziraphale flinches (not without a little yelp) at the sound of Crowley’s voice. “Goodness me. You startled me.”

“That’s what you get for being late.”

“I told you I’d be out and that you needn’t wait up for me.”

Crowley snorts indelicately, putting his Gameboy away (he doesn’t accept commentary on that one). “You know that wasn’t going to happen.” He rises from the battered sofa and takes one long step to breach the gap between them. 

Aziraphale stiffens just a little bit, fumbling with the lowermost button of his waistcoat. “Have you waited long, then?”

“You know I have. You’ve been gone for hours.” Crowley all but towers over him and Aziraphale could swear his golden eyes glow in the dim light of his desk lamp. “How many have it been this time?” He draws in a long breath, taking in the angel’s scent along his neck. “Five?” Another sniff, this time lower. “No, I think six.”

Aziraphale clears his throat. “Well, seven actually. One of them was a woman with a strap-on.”

Crowley tsks, chiding himself. “A woman. Of course. They always throw me off.”

“I almost threw her off as well.” The angel beams gleefully. “She was quite ruthless.”

“Was she, now.” Crowley waves a hand and Aziraphales’s clothes fall off him, leaving him in nothing but his tartan sock and holders. And this ridiculous bowtie. “Look at you… “ And he does, taking in the angel’s somewhat banged up body. 

There’s bruises blooming along his shoulders and atop his thighs. Red marks - teeth and handprints from the looks of it - pepper his chest, even his belly. Dried spendings trail all the down to his cock that stands hard and proud, red and swollen from first neglect and then repeated use. 

Crowley rounds him, accessing him. His back doesn’t look any better. There’s even the evidence of some sort of implement there - a flogger maybe?

“You look like you had fun.” It’s not a question.

“I did, my dear. Three times, if you must know.” Aziraphale smiles a cheeky little smile. 

Crowley doesn’t stop the grin that’s inching onto his face. “So… If I were to properly inspect you now…”

Aziraphale shivers. “Please do…”

With a dramatic gesture, Crowley slumps down on the sofa again, patting his knee. “Go on, then.”

More gracefully than should be possible, Aziraphale drapes himself over Crowley’s lap. Crowley has shifted a bit to the side so that Aziraphale can prop himself up on his elbows on the sofa. It’s an awkward position but a well practiced one.

“Seven, you say…,” Crowley drawls, “seven cocks up your arse… you should be as open as Catholic church on Sundays.”

A quiver rolls down Aziraphale’s spine, drawing up gooseflesh on his bare skin. 

Gentle, almost betraying his words, Crowley parts his cheeks, revealing the hefty base of a plug adorned with a crimson gemstone. He huffs a little chuckle under his breath. “Look at that. You learned from last time.”

“Do you like it?” Aziraphale asks over his shoulders, arching his back even more to show off the toy. 

“I do. It’s a nice surprise.” He runs a finger around the rim. “But don’t expect mercy just because you look cute.”

“From you? Never.” Aziraphale grins and it earns him the first strike of the night, driving him into Crowley’s boney knee. 

“Don’t be glib with me, angel.” Crowley deals another strike, leaving a nice handprint on Aziraphale’s milky skin. “Now… let’s take this out, shall we?”

The plug comes out easily. It’s a heavy thing, a large stainless steel bulb Crowley can’t even wrap his fingers around. 

“Aren’t you a slutty little angel, walking around with that thing inside you” he taunts. Just for the fun of it, he pushes the very tip of the plug back into Aziraphale’s loosened hole. 

Aziraphale moans into the crook of his arm, pushing back a bit. And with that push comes just the tiniest bit of come, dribbling over the back of his balls. 

“No, no. None of that.” Another strike, this time harder. “You keep that in until I take it from you.”

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whimpers in a small voice that’s mostly for show.

“No, you’re not. You should be, though.” Crowley strikes him again. “Tell me… what did you do this time? Be detailed.”

“I… went to the club I frequent.”

The next strike is the hardest yet, leaving a sharp print on Aziraphale’s right cheek.

“I… there was a man there. A beautiful man.”

Strike.

“He invited me to the backroom.”

Strike.

“His friends waited there. Five of them.”

Strike.

“They undressed me. They all had their hands on me.”

Strike.

“Then they laid me down. On my back. One held my legs up.”

Strike. 

“And then one of them took me.”

Crowley strikes him again. Hard. The force of the blow drives Aziraphale forward, Crowley’s knee digging into his hips. Aziraphale lets out a little squeak when Crowley reaches for his cock for a quick, coarse stroke.

“You’re quite pathetic. You know that, angel? What would Upstairs think if they knew that you’re doing? That you seek such animalistic pleasures from humans?” Crowley tweaks Aziraphale’s arsecheek right where he’s struck him previously, making the angel squirm. “That you let them fuck you? Repeatedly. Do you think they’d appreciate having such a slag amidst their ranks?”

Aziraphale mewls something that might have been an answer.

“What was that? Speak up.”

“I said… no. They wouldn’t,” the angel breaths. 

“That’s right. They won’t like a slag like you. Whoring himself out to mankind. And not even charging money for it.” Crowley strokes him again, root to tip and back again. “Just a cheap little angelic tramp in the backroom. Needy and greedy for some cock.”

Aziraphale squirms. And not just because Crowley keeps stroking him. 

“You like that, don’t you? When I talk to you like that? Telling you what a dirty, dirty angel you are?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale pants. “Yes, I do.”

Crowley laughs. Well, it’s not really a laugh but an amused little chuckle. It comes short when he strikes Aziraphale once more. 

“You should see yourself, really. Spread over my lap like a naughty school boy. Arse red from my hand. And this…” Again, Crowley spread his cheeks, revealing a very red and very swollen sphincter, the once tight hole almost sloppily agape. “I should really spank you here, shouldn’t I?”

When Crowley does, slapping three fingers against Aziraphale’s very frequented entrance, the angel yelps, struggling against him a bit but stays obediently in position.

“Oh you like that, huh? What a proper little slut you are.”

Crowley repeats the motion again, bringing his fingers down directly on Aziraphale’s hole.

“I came when the second entered me,” Aziraphale continues, his voice strained with unhidden pleasure now. His words crack a little with every strike but he keeps talking, knowing that Crowley wants to hear this as much as he loves to say it aloud. “The third took me from behind. Mounted me, really. The fourth made me come again. That’s when the woman joined us. She made me suck on her strap-on as the fifth man plowed into me. The sixth was a disappointment. Finished too soon. Then she went for it. She was magnificent. Taking me hard. She told me to come and I did.”

Come is running down Aziraphale’s entrance, over his balls, even the length of his cock. With every one of Crowley’s slaps a little more dribbles out, the angel unable to hold it back. They are making a sticky mess, but one they both take great pride in.

“You’re taking orders from humans now? Upstairs would certainly hate that.” With just the very tip of his fingers Crowley pushes into him, causing more of the foreign spendings to flow out. “But I love it. Seeing you for the little tart that you are.”

“Please,” Aziraphale whimpers, ever so gently humping against Crowley’s thigh. 

“Please what, angel?”

“Make me come.”

“Again? Do you have more in you?” It’s a redundant question and they both know it. Neither of them cares.

“Please.”

Crowley pushes two fingers into Aziraphale’s hole while his other hand curls around his cock. He brings him off in no time at all, stroking him through it with rapid movements. 

“That’s it, my little slag. Show me how much you needed it,” Crowley drawls.

Aziraphale ruts against his thigh, seeking friction in every way possible, caught between Crowley’s cool hand and the rough fabric of his jeans. He comes in thick ropes over Crowey’s fingers and onto the floor, making the most pathetically delicious noises as the orgasm rolls through him for the fourth time tonight.

When he’s finally done, he all but slumps down bonelessly, draped across Crowley’s lap as the naked mess that he is.

“Thank you, my dear,” he breathes, trying to straighten up but failing midway. “That was quite exquisite.”

Crowley scoffs, delivering a final hard slap against Aziraphale’s arse. “You shouldn’t thank me. You should apologize for being such a filthy angel, coming all over yourself like that.”

Aziraphale looks back over his shoulder with a little glint in his eyes. “However should I do that?”

Crowley raises a brow. “You know how.”

Spurred by sudden strength, Aziraphale scrambles to his knees, for once not caring that his socks get soaked in his own spendings. He kneels between Crowley’s thighs, reaching for the zipper of his jeans. He almost has to resort to his angelic powers to pull the way too tight trousers down and free Crowley’s cock from its confinement.

Aziraphale licks his lips the way he also does when presented with the most delicious sushi platter before sweeping in to take Crowley’s shaft into his mouth. It’s a skilled move, one practiced many times. It’s a lavish tongue sweeping broadly along Crowley’s prick, it’s nimble fingers playing Crowley like the most complicated of instruments. 

“Look at the harlot you become when you get to suck my cock…,” Crowley muses, threading his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “So greedy for it. Gagging for it, little slut, aren’t you?”

More words falter on his tongue because Aziraphale is just that good. Fisting aimlessly at the worn leather of the sofa, Crowley tries to hold on to something as Aziraphale draws the orgasm from him. In thick spurts he spends himself down the angel’s throat, feeding more and more to him which he eagerly laps up like a drowning man.

“Thank you, dearest.” Aziraphale literally beams at him like the cat that got the creams as he sits back, scooping one last drop from the corner of his mouth.

“Come here, angel,” Crowley beckons, limply patting the seat next to him.

Aziraphale gets up and sits down next to him. He winces as his bruised arse hits the leather but he is still snuggling close to Crowley, fingers threading into the demon’s curls. 

“Enjoyed yourself, then?” Crowley asks somewhat stupidly. 

“I did. You know I did.” Aziraphale presses an almost chaste kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “Thank you for indulging me. I know how difficult it is for you to see me go out and…”

Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand in his and tongues between his fingers, tasting himself there. When he speaks, his voice is almost small. “I’d rather see you satisfied by someone else than not be satisfied by me.” He clears his throat, sounding stronger now. “Besides… benefits are positively reaped on my end when I get to see you like this.”

“When you get to call me those names?” Aziraphale teases, nosing against Crowley’s neck. 

“That, too.”

“You don’t really mean them, do you?” The angel sounds almost anxious now that the post-orgasmic bliss is wearing thin.

“Oh no, I do.” Crowley grins deviously. “You are a slut, angel. But you’re my slut. There’s a difference.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on tumblr @ tastymoves


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